


Alone I Cannot Hate

by Essidera



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Parent Jason Todd, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essidera/pseuds/Essidera
Summary: Jason's mind didn't need fear toxin to be able to conjure up nightmares. Sometimes it was bad. Especially when there were people around him he could hurt.
Relationships: Lian Harper & Jason Todd, Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Alone I Cannot Hate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! First fic so please let me know if I need to tag anything else.  
> Tagged for self-harm just to be safe, but it's unintentional and not explicitly described. 
> 
> Title from Slipknot's Snuff (an incredibly emotional song)

‘Hey.’ 

He tore his eyes away from where the night sky above had been shifting in and out of focus and turned to blink at Roy beside him. Roy, his hair impossibly messy where he’d hastily pulled it up, darker now than in the daylight but streaked with moonlit highlights, a haggard red jungle atop his head; his Roy, grinning like he knew some dirty secret. Which, knowing Roy, he certainly did. 

They were perched on the edge of a rooftop, Roy leaning back with both palms stretched out flat on the gravel behind him. There was a single yellowish safety light above the door a few feet behind Roy, the apartment building’s rooftop access, but it was just them. Just him, and Roy, and the one or two stars that even Gotham’s light pollution couldn’t obscure. 

‘Wanna grab some paint and go redecorate Dick’s apartment while he’s out?’ Roy smirked and swung his legs off the edge, feet pointed down to an endless drop below. 

Roy’s grin flickered, a flash of yellowed teeth and blood red lips, wide and contorting his face, and Jason forced his gaze forwards. He took a shaky breath, clenching his fists until his fingers risked cramping. 

‘Not tonight.’ He said. The idea was tempting, though. Reminiscent of a good memory, a solid memory, and going back would have been kinda nice. But instead, he was watching a painted black sky, still and dead and taunting. The city skyline was less pronounced than he remembered: fewer buildings and more endless space. 

‘You alright?’ Roy’s tone softened, the smile dropping, and Jason closed his eyes. 

The wind brushed his hair, tickled across his skin, a refreshing chill. His fingertips were digging into his palms, he could feel the tension in his jaw from clenching his teeth for too long. Even the smell, the smoggy air and the lingering stench that could only be from Gotham, from the Alley. It was all so real. 

Except the city surrounding them, usually so vibrant and alive and terrible, was quiet. No cars, no alarms, no hum of life. The only sound was the wind against his jacket, hollow and consuming. 

‘... Jay?’ 

He exhaled through his nose, dragged his hand painfully through his hair, tugging at his scalp. Pain. Pain was real. His pulse was thrumming manically beneath his skin, racing like if it slowed down he would die. He would… if… 

Roy was real. Real, real, real. Roy’s hand, now warm atop his own, worn with callouses he could trace from memory but somehow still soft, was solid and firm and real. The surface of the roof was cold, even through his trousers, seeping into his skin, persistent cold that was lethal when living on the streets, cold that stole away so many every winter, cold that he’d had to fight tooth and nail to survive. 

Roy moved closer, so he could feel his body heat, a spark to thaw the frost, because Roy was real and he wasn’t a kid on the streets anymore. 

The silence was threatening. A truth he was a few threads away from unravelling. A defeat planned three moves ahead. A promise which, if he opened his eyes, would shatter his world. 

There was a moment of suspension, of peace, in which he felt like he was floating, body growing lighter and lighter by the second, his grip on reality slipping and slipping and slipping and - 

_'Why are you frowning, kid?’_

He jerked away from the body next to him, tearing his hand back against his body and falling hard against solid concrete as his eyes shot open and were met with a crimson stare that definitely did not belong to Roy. His heart seized in his chest, limbs scrambling frantically, all coordination drained from his body at the sound of that voice. That fucking voice. 

Suddenly there were countless pairs of hands pinning him down, hands belonging to faceless shadows, and if his throat hadn’t closed up he’d be howling in a confused mix of fear and anger. Trapped. 

Trapped by four sides of pine, permanent, designed to trap him forever, closing in until there was no air, no space to move, no light, and his fingers had stung and his knuckles were ruined but he could break through, only it wasn’t the end, there was soil cascading through the gap, showering his face and covering his mouth and suffocating - 

No. Hands. The hands were real. That was not. 

The pain came from somewhere, but he couldn’t focus enough to pinpoint the source. All he experienced was pain, agony shooting up his nerves, bones breaking at the snap of metal cutting through the air. A fucking crowbar. Of course it was. 

But it hadn’t been the sensation of pain that was the worst part, back then. It had been the acceptance. The realisation, some time in, that he was dying. Hope shattering with each new fracture. Dying alone, like he used to envision on the worst nights curled up behind a dumpster in dark alleys, when he didn’t have anyone, but then someone had found him and he’d had family and - 

And Bruce was standing there in the back, cowl lenses dark, void of emotion, watching, motionless. Impassive. Allowing it. Indifferent. 

The smack of the crowbar, the grip of hands, the blinding agony until he was numb from it. Numb, unable to control his own movements, a broken puppet on green strings. Wisps of green curled down his arms like cursed tattoos and swallowed up his hands like gloves, only these gloves didn’t prevent blood from staining his hands underneath. 

And then, splitting through his haze of hysteria, laughter. Freezing him in place, settling dread heavy and leaden in his stomach. Laughter. Distinct, overwhelming, and fucking terrifying. 

He was screaming. Raw and wretched and panicked, because he was dying again and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, he couldn’t do anything - 

And the hands abruptly tore away to just one pair, at his shoulder and his elbow, a red-lined grin staining his vision and cackling echoing in his ears over the dull ticking he hadn’t even begun to process but he could move. One pair of hands he could take. 

The force pinning him was gone, and Jason was fast. All of his training with Bruce, with fucking assassins, wasn’t for nothing. He threw his weight towards the assailant, knocking free their grasp, and scrambled on top of them, desperately clawing at any advantage he could find. He must have surprised the attacker, since they didn’t make a move against him, so he easily got one of their hands in a death grip, pinning them to the soft surface beneath. 

His other hand instinctively wrapped around the knife he kept under his pillow and it all happened so fast, drawing the blade high in the air as laughter dug deafeningly into his eardrums and his heart stuttered, and he brought his hand down in a practised swoop. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

His name cut through the noise, only just, a voice as panicked as he felt, and his eyes snapped into focus a second before impact, seeing a familiar face, and he couldn’t stop the momentum of the swing, too high off fear, so he changed its course instead. 

‘Jay!’ The voice shrieked, ten times more frightened than before, and everything went still. His senses returned full-force, sound and sight slapping him in the face with harsh reality. Roy. Roy was lying beneath him, pinned where Jason was sitting on his hips, one restrained hand open in surrender but the other against Jason’s face. 

His palm felt nice on his cheek, and he turned into it, eyelids fluttering, brain still kicking back into gear with a faulty splutter of smoke. 

He jolted, suddenly tearing the knife away from flesh, eyes wide with horror, fixed on the scarlet quickly seeping across his hand. Roy swore loudly, freeing his hand with ease and urging him backwards so he could sit up. Jason couldn’t stop staring. Blood. Red and hot and sticky and _I did that I hurt someone I -_

‘Jay, baby?’ Roy whispered, like he was afraid of speaking any louder, hand trembling where it was still framing his cheekbone. Roy’s hands never did that. He couldn’t afford to have unsteady hands, not with as an archer. Roy was scared. 

The door opened, and Jason flinched, forgetting the blood in favour of dealing with the threat, _even though I’m the threat it’s me I -_

‘Daddy?’ A little voice asked from the doorway, entering without waiting for acknowledgement. 

Jason watched her with his breath held, perfectly still, Roy in a state of shock beside him, until she was right in front of him, frowning up at him, eyes wide and bright and so fucking innocent. Before he could stop himself, he was reaching forwards, and she willingly let herself be swept up onto the bed and held against his chest even as Roy flinched in his peripheral. He wrapped both arms around her tightly, one hand at the back of her head where her hair was soft, and he choked on air. 

‘Jay-Jay?’ Lian asked by his ear, small hands patting at his shoulders, and he sobbed, unable to force air into his lungs and unable to let her go. ‘Daddy, what’s wrong with Jay-Jay?’ 

‘He’s upset, pumpkin,’ Roy said shakily, bringing himself back together, and Jason could feel him shift closer, tense, because Jason was still gripping the handle of the knife. He immediately dropped it onto the mattress, the skin on his hand scolded where the grip had made contact. Something happened very quickly to the knife, since in the next blink of an eye it had been stowed away somewhere safe, and then Roy was getting up, leaving. 

Which was for the best. Jason couldn’t breathe, let alone function. Roy deserved so much better, Lian deserved the entire fucking world. She was so small, so delicate in his arms, and he could feel her tiny heart beat out of sync with his own, feel her whisper-light breaths against his neck, so young and brilliant and perfect. Her laugh was the only one that he could listen to without shivering. Her smile was positively contagious. She was the source of pretty much everything he considered made him happy in his life, and the list wasn’t very long as it was. 

Lian squirmed, but he couldn’t let go. He wasn’t holding her tight enough to hurt her, he made sure of it, but he wasn’t letting go. She kept shifting, though, one of her hands probing between them at his stomach which for the first time sparked pain, but it was merely an afterthought amidst everything else raging through his head. 

Her hand came away bloody, and he’d done that, he’d scarred Lian’s innocent soul by just fucking existing. ‘Daddy?’ Her voice was uncertain, smart enough to know Jason shouldn’t be leaking red from his stomach and staining both of their shirts, but too young to grasp the consequences of it. 

‘I know, princess, I know.’ There was Roy’s parenting skills shining through, that newfound ability to present himself as calm in a dire situation. Not that he was fooling anyone. His voice came from somewhere further away, still in the room, but at least a few steps away, and Jason couldn’t get up and go to him. He wasn’t fully dissociating, not quite, but doing anything unprompted right now was not an option. 

‘Hold still, Lian.’ Roy was suddenly right back with them, right by his ear, pressing something against Jason’s abdomen, and he made a non-committal sound as pain flared bluntly, and Roy shushed him gently, nudging their heads together, the way he always would when he was stitching Jason up, his way of heartfelt, silent apology. 

‘Jaybird, we’ve gotta get up now, alright? Up you get, come on.’ He was being coaxed to stand by hands at his elbows, pulling him away from the bed, and he let it happen, mind drifting, sick, focusing solely on keeping Lian close, her legs now wrapped around his back and arms around his neck. 

He stumbled on the stairs, lightheaded and mostly absent from his body, and Roy was cursing colourfully, trying to keep the both of them upright whilst wary of having to catch Lian if he collapsed. But… panic and fear were warring in Jason’s head, heart still racing with adrenaline, mind still flickering between nightmare and nightmarish reality, and his grip on sanity was slipping with each passing second. Everything was moving too fast, he needed to back himself into a corner where he couldn’t hurt anyone else and relearn how to breathe. 

‘You’re okay, baby. We’re gonna be okay.’ Roy vowed halfway down the stairs, whispered, lips pressed to his temple, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it, but he did. And he held onto it. 

A hazy passing of time, and then Roy was trying to ease Lian out of his grasp, and he whined, pathetically, breath hitching, and as embarrassing as that was Roy gave up, some form of grief taking over his features, and then a seat-belt was being worked around both him and Lian now in his lap, which must have been difficult. 

‘It’s okay, Jay-Jay.’ Lian was a miracle. 

This little kid, Roy’s kid, Jason’s kid in every way that mattered, was the actual embodiment of hope. She was a beacon of the future, her own bright and prosperous future, their family’s future. Lian would grow up fierce and fearless and supported: everything Jason wasn’t. Everything he didn’t grow up to be. He could see all of his own mistakes, his own hatred, righted by Lian. 

He couldn’t let her go. He needed her like he needed air, but the harsh truth was that she didn’t need him. She would become everything and more without him. She had a wonderful father, the best man Jason knew, whereas Jason isn’t even good. If he couldn’t control his own actions, how the hell was he supposed to be a positive influence for a kid? 

‘You with me, Jaybird?’ Roy’s hand on his knee even as he was driving. Driving in the middle of the fucking night, everyone dragged from their beds, still in pyjamas, because of him. 

He couldn’t open his eyes, too afraid of seeing something other than the interior of Roy’s decades-old pickup and Lian nestled safely in his lap. Even the blackness of his eyelids was tinted green. Roy’s hand felt real, but it had felt real before, and Jason was helplessly lost. Put him in a room full of human traffickers with guns and he would own that room. But this? His soul ripped from his chest, numb and hollow and aching? This he couldn’t handle. 

‘Fuck, Jay.’ Roy said, sounding as helpless as he felt. It wasn’t fair for Roy to have to share his burden, his fear, to live in such a state of fucking uncertainty because he couldn’t trust himself. 

That was what it came down to: he didn’t trust his own mind, the control he had over his body. His body, which he should be able to move and stop as he pleased, only the green puppet strings had him wrapped up so tightly that if he struggled he was more likely to cut his arms than sever the cord. 

At least he didn’t hurt anyone this time. Roy still seemed pretty panicked, though. 

The truck turned off-road, the feel of it different than tarmac as tyres dragged over rougher ground. Uneven. He could feel every single rock, every tiny stone that rubber rolled over, like they were scraping against his own skin. A sluggish wave of betrayal washed over him, rising like nausea in his throat, but he couldn’t open his eyes, it was too dangerous. 

Lian’s face was tucked in against his neck, comfortable and sleepy, and he managed a shaky breath, trying desperately to control himself, for her sake. There was very little he couldn’t do for Lian. 

Part of Jason, the part that was detached from the situation, watching idly, wished he was aware enough to watch the scene that followed. Roy driving unannounced into the Cave, using Jason’s personal codes, must have startled the Bat quite humorously. It wasn’t the first time Roy had been here, but he rarely came as himself: a frantic trio of civilians crammed into a pickup like it was a last-minute holiday decision, minus the over-packed luggage and winning smiles and pretty much everything else that would make it a holiday. Anyway, nobody used this entrance outside of costume. Even Jason, when he was being particularly stubborn, was at least armed every time. There was something so vulnerable about being without armour in the Cave. 

It might have been the first time he’d been here out of costume since he died. If he thought about it. Which he didn’t want to do. 

Bruce had been the only one there, probably already alerted to their arrival, but he’d still been standing, suited up without the cowl, staring dumbly at the tyre marks Roy was undoubtedly leaving as he yanked on the handbrake. 

‘Where are we?’ Lian mumbled against Jason’s collarbone, half-asleep. Fuck, she definitely hadn’t been here before. 

Roy didn’t have time to answer her, already throwing himself out the driver’s seat, his shouts to Bruce muffled to Jason’s ears by closed doors. A barrier between him and reality. A barrier he didn’t want to cross. 

‘Jay-Jay?’ 

The Cave was dark. If he opened his eyes, he’d still be surrounded by darkness. The memory of darkness was still vivid in his mind, of being trapped six feet under and running out of oxygen. Darkness was not a friend, not like it had been before. You could hide away in the dark, sure, but it was a death sentence waiting to happen. Bad things always happened in the dark, right? 

‘Come on, Jay, hold on a little longer.’ 

Hold on… hold onto what? Lian? He was never letting go, Roy didn’t have to remind him to hold onto her. Lian was… Lian was… 

Lian was being pried away from his grasp. He tugged her back, heart leaping in his throat, lungs crushed by suppressive paranoia. 

‘Jaybird, let me take Lian, okay?’ 

No. 

‘We need to patch you up, yeah?’ 

No. No, he wouldn’t give her up. If he let her go he would never get her back. It was better that way, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. So he buried his face in her hair, breathless, and managed in a choked voice that was barely audible, ‘Please don’t take her from me.’ 

A heavy pause. ‘Oh, Jason,’ Roy murmured, forehead pressed against the side of his head in the closest form to an embrace he could manage with Lian still between them. His lips brushed the shell of Jason’s ear and he let out a wounded breath, realising why Jason had been clinging so hard to his daughter all this time. Jason cringed, raising his shoulders to fold further in on himself. 

_Laughter, thwack, ticking, laughter…_

‘Never, Jason, I’d never do that to you. You haven’t done anything wrong, baby, okay?’ Roy whispered, just for him, warm and earnest and insistent in a way only Roy could be. ‘We’re not going anywhere, I promise. I just gotta - just let me take her for now, okay? Let Bruce help you. Please, Jay.’ 

There was no hint of a lie in Roy’s voice, and Jason trusted him. But right now he wasn’t Jason, not really, he was a scared little kid halfway through being murdered and he didn’t know what was real but Roy asked him to do this, so… so he did. He released his hold, reluctantly, and let Lian be taken from him. 

_It’s not forever, it’s not forever, it’s not…_

Without the solid weight in his lap to focus on, he found himself tipping backwards, not against a car seat like he’d thought but all the way back, empty space behind him and nothing to catch him, back onto a flat surface. Cold. He was dizzy, head spinning, and he finally forced himself to open his eyes, bracing himself for the absolute worst, because Lian wasn’t there anymore and what if she - 

Crying. She was crying. He could hear her, but he couldn’t see her. 

He tried to sit upright, look for her, find her and help her, but someone much stronger than him pushed against his shoulder and he couldn’t move he couldn’t move he couldn’t move - 

‘Calm down.’ A gruff voice above him ordered.

He struggled through every breath, chest heaving with the effort, but he tried to obey. That voice, that voice he was supposed to listen to. He’d always done a pretty shitty job at doing what he was supposed to. Only one person could sound cold and concerned at the same time. He got his eyes to settle on Bruce, now standing beside whatever Jason was lying on, gloves and cowl removed but still dressed in that godawful black, but this time he wasn’t watching impassively as Jason was beaten to death. The blue eyes looking down at him were his father’s, not his mentor’s. 

Abruptly he felt tired, all the way down to his bones. He ignored Bruce’s ministrations, instead watching his face, blurring in and out of focus. A finger came up to wipe away one of his tears. 

‘I didn’t want to hurt him, B,’ Jason croaked, the twisted ball of heat in his abdomen starting to spread as his body came back online. His hand was still heavy, though, when he lifted it to pat at Bruce’s arm to get his attention. ‘I didn’t mean to - I can’t…’ 

‘He’s fine, Jason.’ 

He closed his eyes and let the words wash over him like an oscillating tide, a mantra. Roy was fine, Lian was fine. It took him until that moment to finally understand that he’d stabbed himself. And he was oddly fine with that. Better him than them. 

*** 

When he woke up the next time, it was different. There was a clear difference between sleep and consciousness. No uncertainty that what he was experiencing was real. Not that that in itself was encouraging, since he’d thought it was all real before. 

Although, not even his own imagination could place him in a guest room at the manor. It was easily identifiable: not his apartment, not a hospital, and not the Cave, so there were few options remaining, really. And nobody else decorated quite like the Waynes, however many generations back that went. 

He couldn’t care less about the decor. The curtains were halfway open and the room was flooded with natural light, warm and welcoming and instantly relaxing. The bed was comfortable, yet empty besides him, which was less nice. And the pain he could push through. Pain was nothing to Jason. 

Roy was holding his hand. He could have known that without looking. Of all of Roy’s body, which he had explored rather thoroughly, his hands were what he was most acquainted with. Light brushes in passing, affectionate caresses in private because Roy is a sap, angrily tending to his dislocated shoulder with barely concealed irritation at both the culprit and Jason, always at Jason. Roy could say a thousand things with just his hands. 

Roy was dozing in an armchair pulled up right to the edge of the bed, one foot propped up on the mattress, and Lian was tucked up in a blanket cocoon in his lap. He’d borrowed what must have been one of Dick’s old sweaters but was otherwise still in last night’s pyjamas, feet bare and hair a righteous mess. Sometimes Jason wondered why he even bothered to tie it up when half of it came undone ten minutes later. 

It only took a questioning wiggle of his fingers to wake Roy up from his clearly unintentional nap. Roy looked up at him, and paused, assessing. Jason swallowed. 

‘Alright, Jaybird?’ Roy asked quietly. A loaded question, if taken seriously. The easy answer would be no, but Roy knew that. Relatively? He was doing okay. He felt human again, and that was leaps and bounds better than last night. 

So he went for a halfhearted cocky smirk, ‘Like the sea is blue.’ 

Roy glanced over his shoulder to the window, where the sky outside was a miserable grey, like it was most days in the heavily polluted city. ‘In Gotham?’ Roy raised an eyebrow. Which was fair. With a sky like that the sea would most certainly not be blue here. That was how science worked, right?

‘Well, fuck.’ Hiding behind humour was always the first instinct, and next was to close up entirely. He couldn’t do that to Roy, though. That left… well. Fuck. ‘Could’ve killed you.’ He said. 

Roy looked on the verge of quipping some dumb response but instead licked his lips, swallowed, and got to his feet. A few milliseconds passed in which Jason’s heart stopped - he knew they were better off without him but to actually accept that he was going to be alone again was something else. Only then Roy sat on the bed, Lian still cradled to his chest. 

‘One,’ Roy said, ‘We’re not keeping any more knives under pillows. We can argue about firearms later.’ He brought his legs up on top of the covers. ‘Two, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll invest in some handcuffs, and not the kinky kind. Or maybe the kinky kind. I’m down if you are.’ 

Then Roy was lying down, on his side, with Lian settling in the space between them, turning over in her sleep and reaching for Jason. He shifted closer, ignoring the pang of pain up his stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach out, too. Roy’s hand came up to the side of his neck, warm against his pulse, one finger stroking through the short hair at the back of his head. 

‘Three,’ Roy said lowly, much more intimate now they’re lying side by side, faces inches apart. ‘Yeah, you could’ve killed me. Or you could’ve killed yourself. But I know you won’t.’ Jason’s face morphed in protest and Roy cut him off before he could interrupt. ‘No, Jay, you won’t. Because the _second_ you wake up you take back control. It’s gonna be fuckin’ hard, but you can fight it. I know you can, because you already are. And you’re doin’ well, baby.’ Roy was such a sap. He was going to make the both of them cry. It was cruel. ‘That could’ve ended real bad for us, but it didn’t, and that’s what matters. Everyone is okay. You stopped it. _You_ did that, Jay.’ 

‘I almost stabbed you.’ He said flatly. ‘I did that, too.’ 

‘I meant what I said last night, Jason. We’re not leaving you. So please don’t leave us.’ 

Fucking mind-reader. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave, but he thought he had to. Their safety being the main reason. Jason was dangerous, there was no denying that, traumatised or not. Even without a knife, he could have killed Roy so quickly before he knew what he was doing. That was terrifying. Not waking up next to him would mean he wouldn't get that opportunity.

But, maybe he didn’t have to leave. Maybe leaving would hurt everyone more. Jason, for one, wouldn’t last a week. Roy would be heart-broken. And Lian… He swallowed, blinking back tears, and nodded. He couldn’t leave. 

Roy relaxed. ‘I think we should talk about giving therapy another shot. I’m going to need to go to a few meetings after this, I can’t imagine how you must feel. You shouldn’t have to go through this, and I know we can’t get rid of it, but maybe we can make it more bearable.’ 

He took a deep breath, wincing as it tugged at his stitches. A reminder of what landed them here. Of the danger.

‘Lian?’ He asked quietly, one might call sheepishly, but Jason was not sheepish. 

Roy blew out a breath. ‘I mean, I guess she can go with you to therapy if you want, but I don’t think she needs it just yet.’ He managed a huff of laughter, just a loud exhale through his nose. ‘You’d never hurt her, Jay.’ Roy closed his eyes, settling in to sleep, and Jason felt his own eyelids grow heavy in sympathy. ‘She’s our daughter.’ 

Well. There’s always that. 

Always one to spoil a moment, he is. ‘Little Lian Todd.’ 

‘Fuck off, she’s mine.’ Roy laughed. 

Sometimes it was nice to be reminded how to smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Had to be super soft at the end because I made myself sad :(  
> Criticism welcome!


End file.
